Concord
by jespah
Summary: Malcolm is caught in a temporal interphasic rift in 2153, and ends up ... somewhere else.
1. Chapter 1

Temporal interphases are tricky things. They kidnap you to unfamiliar places and times, in clothes that are not your own, as you wonder how you'll ever return to what you know.

_Star Trek  
Enterprise_

_Concord_

A Star Trek Fan Fiction By  
J. R. Gershen-Siegel

**PG-13- Parents Strongly Cautioned**

Some material may be not be appropriate

for children under 13

_TrekUnited Publishing_

**This is a fan written work**

The copyrights & trademarks of Star Trek are owned by  
Paramount Pictures, CBS Corporation and their licensee, Pocket Books. Any attempt to sell or rent this book should be reported to the copyright owners for their action

To visit Janet online go to

To talk about this book and  
to find more great Star Trek fan fiction  
join us on the TrekUnited forum at  
.com

First pdf online edition MM/DD/YYYY

Published for TrekUnited by  
L'Stok Press  
. .LStok

Chapter* 1

"_Urgence! Sortez! C'est trop dangereux!"_

The scientists at CERN scattered in all directions. It was one of the final engagements of the Third World War, a good 600 million people were dead and, for whatever reason, the Eastern Coalition was bombing that region of Switzerland.

"This is insane," complained a British physicist, "this has been a peaceful area for how many years? And we are _this_," he held his left thumb and index fingers about two centimeters apart in order to demonstrate, "close to finally replicating the damned Higgs boson at will!"

"_Je ne sais pas_," replied a French colleague.

There was another explosion.

"Evacuate!" yelled the Brit.

Rwandan, British, French, Chilean and Malaysian scientists joined others running out of the building as bombs fell all around them.

There was a flash, and another explosion. This one was a direct hit to the Large Hadron Super collider.

No one could have known – not the Eastern Coalition and not even the scientists – that the attempt to reliably replicate the Higgs had, instead, dredged up unstable chronometric particles. This created a temporal interphasic rift, and all life on Earth vanished.

That happened in 2053, but it lasted for a few nanoseconds. Most people who experienced it felt it was a minor hiccup in their lives, if they even consciously understood it at all, or remembered it.

But the chronometric particles spread, and some of them, a good century later, made it to where a certain ship was on a certain mission, for what would be known as the Xindi War had just started.

=/\=

There was no warning. The Klingon ship fired and the _Enterprise_ was hit in the starboard nacelle. The ship rocked.

"Return fire!" bellowed Captain Jonathan Archer. "Get Duras!"

The Armory Officer, Malcolm Reed, aimed the phase cannons and fired back at the Klingon vessel, which was targeting the _Enterprise's_ warp core.

"Helm about!" yelled Archer, and Pilot Travis Mayweather complied, steering the ship into a barrel roll to get the Klingons off their tail.

"Fire at will!" Archer yelled.

"Sir! We are out of torpedoes!" Malcolm answered.

Jonathan whacked a console on his armrest. "Tripp! I need more speed! We need to get to Earth and deal with the attack! The last thing we need is Klingons!"

"Aye, Cap'n!" came Chief Engineer Tripp Tucker's voice from Engineering.

"Captain! The Klingon ship is venting some sort of gas!" called out T'Pol, the Vulcan at the Science station.

Jonathan looked back at her. "Can you identify it?"

She looked up. "No, sir."

There was a chime. "They're hailing us," said Communications Ensign Hoshi Sato.

"On screen," Jonathan said, a little bit calmer now.

"Earth vessel," commanded a large Klingon male, "surrender and prepare to be boarded. We will be lenient if you give us Archer."

"Not a chance!" Jonathan answered. _Dammit, we don't even have a complement of MACOs yet!_ He motioned to Hoshi to cut the transmission. "We'll pass out hand weapons if we have to. Malcolm, get to the Armory."

"Right away, sir." He got up.

Jonathan stared back at the viewer. The Klingons weren't backing off. _Had they, perhaps, been the species that had fired on Florida and South America, killing an untold multitude of humans_? They had to find whoever had coordinated that attack. There was no time for diversions and interruptions. He needed to get back to Earth and be debriefed, pick up a squadron of MACOs and drop off some of the less military crew. And then they had to head back out there. "Damn Duras," he repeated, "No time for this."

There was another hit. This one rocked the Bridge, and Malcolm fell to the floor.

"Sick Bay!" Hoshi yelled, "We have a medical emergency!"

And that was the last thing that Malcolm heard.

9


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter* 2

"_Fire_!"

"Wh-what?" Malcolm said, but he knew enough to keep his head down.

"_Fire_!"

There was a thunderous sound as guns and cannon went off. There was smelly smoke everywhere.

He looked up for a second. He was – _what_? He was _outside_. That in itself made no sense whatsoever. "Get down, Lieutenant!" cried a man next to him. The fellow had a British accent, just like Malcolm.

He would have answered, but instinct took over, and he ducked as a cannonball whizzed by his head.

"Get up!" yelled a different voice.

"Yes, sir," said the first man, the one who'd just told Malcolm the opposite. He helped Malcolm up, and helped adjust a pack on Malcolm's back that he had not noticed before.

"Now," said the other man, who appeared to be their commanding officer, "you are soldiers of the king! You are not to be hiding like some illiterate rebels!"

A shot was fired behind him and he ducked, just like the rest of them. Malcolm knew enough not to laugh at that.

"Lieutenant Colonel Smith, sir!" asked a man near Malcolm, "Have we reinforcements?"

"Brigadier General Percy should be on his way," Smith said, "but I still want you out there. You are the finest of the king's army! You will not allow unshod farmers to take this colony!"

Malcolm was bewildered but two things were obvious – Smith was in command and it was dangerous out there. After that, he was lost. The man next to him was dirty, as if he'd hit the dirt a few times already that morning. Malcolm could not look up much to reconnoiter himself, but he did notice that the jackets they were wearing were a bright red, and he was carrying, what? It was an ancient firearm.

"Lieutenant! Have you something to say?" Smith asked sharply.

"No, sir," Malcolm said, knowing fully well to never, ever volunteer.

"Lennox! Have you what to add?"

"No, sir," said the man next to Malcolm. He looked at Malcolm and said quietly, "You looked faint before. It's unexpected, isn't it, all the smoke and noise?"

"I'm all right," Malcolm said, "uh…?"

"Robert Lennox." They shook hands quickly.

There were more shots fired. Their source was coming closer. The company retreated to a bridge, and crossed it as more shots rang out.

"We should take cover, sir," Malcolm said, indicating a stand of trees to Smith.

"That's not the way a British soldier fights! And you, an officer, even! What are they teaching you in school these days? We stand and fight, man!" Smith lined up the troops as well as possible, even as shots were fired. It seemed to be madness.

Malcolm was only slightly better oriented. The only person who seemed to be at all sane was Lennox. Malcolm looked down at the gun he was carrying. It was a Brown Bess Land Pattern musket, an antique. That much he recognized. After that, he was lost.

Another bullet whizzed by, but this one found its mark and struck Lennox in the shoulder, near the neck. The man fell. "Sir!" Malcolm called out, "this man needs care!" Smith could barely hear him, as the battle was in full swing.

Malcolm fired his weapon in the direction of the mist and smoke and gunshots. He couldn't even tell if he had hit anything, and strongly suspected that he hadn't.

"Reload!" yelled Smith. Everyone around Malcolm was pounding powder and shot into gun barrels. He was thoroughly unsure of what to do. He'd seen something like that in a museum, once, he recalled. Powder horn, ramrod, what? Those were antiques, not proper instruments of war. He fumbled around with articles attached to his belt and tentatively tried to reload but ended up ducking again in the confusion.

He felt a sting in his left elbow. He, too, had been hit. At least it was an excuse to stay down, which seemed to be the only sensible thing to do. Lennox wasn't doing so well, drifting in and out of consciousness, mostly out.

"Retreat!" yelled Smith.

"Sir!" Malcolm yelled back, "we shall have to carry Lennox."

"Oh, damnation," said Smith, looking at the badly injured man. "And you've been struck as well." He motioned to two foot soldiers to pick up Lennox. "Mind his head," Smith said.

"Right, sir," replied one of them, who could not have been older than eighteen or so. Another one grabbed Lennox's feet. That soldier, too, was somewhere in his teenaged years.

"He needs proper medical care," Malcolm said as they moved along, in a retreat. At least they were no longer being actively fired upon. The bridge was wooden beneath their tramping feet. They sounded like a herd of elephants.

"I bloody well know that!" exclaimed Smith, "And this one cannot die. They'll have my command and more, if he dies," he added wearily.

"Soldiers die, sir," said one of the fellows carrying Lennox.

"Not members of the Royal Family," Smith said, "Mind that fellow you're holding. He's King George's nephew, is who he is. The Duke of Richmond and all that, no lie! A pity the surgeon also got hit. He's already gone to the Great Beyond. I bet by the end of this I'll be wishing the same had happened to me. They are gonna court martial me if he dies!"

"Sir," Malcolm said, incredulous that Smith was thinking more of his career than of Lennox's life, "perhaps there is a doctor in a nearby village."

"You really think the rebels will care for him properly?"

"We can try," Malcolm said, "and I could use a bandage myself. I could watch, make sure the physician was at least not actively trying to harm Lennox."

There was a crudely carved sign ahead. "We could go there," said one of the men carrying Lennox. The sign said _Concord_.

=/\=

They retreated into Concord as the villagers stared. Some others ran into houses or stables or public houses. Women, in long dresses, shawls and lacy caps, were shooed into homes, as far away from the soldiers as possible.

A bold boy, a child of perhaps seven, spat at them. His mother grabbed him quickly and took him with her, rushing him into what appeared to be a Congregational church.

"What is this place?" asked one of the teenaged soldiers carrying Lennox.

"This is Concord, in the Massachusetts Bay Colony," said Smith, "April nineteenth, 1775. The flower of colonial civilization! I suppose if you want more of a proper city, you'll need to head south to Boston. This isn't much more than a few cow pastures and a village green." He sneered disapprovingly.

But he was right. The place was tiny. Malcolm held his bleeding elbow, willing the pain away and adjusting his pack a bit to the other side. He knew where he was, more or less, and the when of it meant that this was, insanely, the American War of Independence. But that part could not possibly be so. Military history was a hobby of his. It seemed as if he had somehow stumbled into a reenactment. And everyone in the reenactment was mightily concerned with staying in character.

"We need to get to a doctor," he said, "get scans done, and see about stasis for Lennox."

"Scans? Stasis? What are you on about?" Smith asked, looking at him strangely. He thought for a second, making a decision. "You must've been hit worse than it appears. A bit of madness you have there, I think." He left the company and yelled at the townspeople, "I have wounded men! They need a surgeon! Have you hayseeds got a surgeon?"

The townspeople all just stared, bowled over by Smith's rudeness. "Please," Malcolm appealed to the villagers, "this man is gravely injured."

"You don't ask for permission!" Smith insisted. "Really, Lieutenant, these are colonials! The Crown can have what it needs without some niceties like you might use with the ladies!"

"I hardly think your method is working," Malcolm said, a bit indignant. Then he added, sarcastically, "_Sir_."

The villagers just stared, as if it were a town composed entirely of mutes.

"He's fading, sir," said one of the teenagers carrying Lennox, a worried tone to his voice.

"Bloody hell!" Smith shook his head, "There are farm houses 'round here. Let's get him to one of those."

"And then what?" Malcolm asked, "Sir?"

Smith just shook his head and Malcolm got the distinct impression that his commanding officer could only handle one decision at a time.

=/\=

They were outside the village proper, in more of its outskirts. Farm houses were close enough that a person could see the neighbors, but probably not hear them. The grounds were thawed and small shoots were coming up in fields everywhere. "Go, and get into that one," Smith indicated to Malcolm. "Take whatever you need and then we'll move on."

Malcolm approached the front door and knocked. "You bloody well don't have to knock!" yelled Smith, barreling over. "I shall do it myself!" He motioned over a few strong young soldiers and they forced the door.

It was just a woman and her servant, an elderly man of African descent. She looked at them in alarm. "The militia will be back any minute now!" she said, "They'll surround the house and you'll be trapped!" She clutched the elbow of her servant's coat. It was frayed, as if this were a house that had once been grander, or the family had fallen on hard times.

"I am Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith. You will accept these wounded of the troops of His Majesty the King, George the Third," Smith commanded, indicating Malcolm and the still prone Lennox, "It is your duty as a citizen of the Crown."

"I am a citizen of the Massachusetts Bay Colony," she replied, "And the quartering of troops is against the rights of man."

"Then 'tis a good thing that you are a woman," replied Smith, "and your slave has no rights."

"Benjamin is no slave!" she exclaimed, her eyes darting from one face to another.

Malcolm spoke, "My apologies, madam. This man is very gravely injured." He looked into her eyes for the first time, and noticed that they were an impossibly light blue, very nearly white. He could not help himself, and stared a little.

She broke their shared gaze first. "I am sorry that he is so badly hurt, but I cannot have you here."

"You have no choice," said Smith, "you will provide quartering for these two injured men. You will provide care for both of them. Any attempts to harm either of them will result in trouble. You," he said to Benjamin, "fetch the town's surgeon."

Benjamin looked at her. "Miz Hayes?" he inquired.

"The surgeon is gone, he has joined the rebellion," she replied.

"Then it shall be but the two of you who will provide care," Smith said, "Your militia may be returning, but they will not win this war. And then when it is done, you will be rewarded handsomely. Enough to," he indicated the house, which was a little shabby, "make all repairs as you need to, and reclaim your land. The king will reward you handsomely if you treat his nephew well."

"Can we put him down?" asked one of the teenaged soldiers.

There was a table in the foyer, with two small unlit candelabra on it. Benjamin moved the candelabra away and the teenaged soldiers put Lennox down. The woman stood over him, "This is indeed grave. He has lost a great deal of blood." A furrow of concern appeared on her brow.

"Can you help him?" Malcolm asked gently.

"I don't know. I am not skilled in such matters." She said, "It would be such a shame. He is so young."

"Can you assist the Lieutenant here?" Smith asked, a little calmer now.

She looked at Malcolm's arm. "I think so. It does not mean I am agreeing to this. It is under protest."

"Understood," Malcolm said under his breath.

"We shall have to depart now," Smith said. He looked intently at Malcolm, "You can get a message through, to Boston, if there are complications. If Lennox dies, I shall need to know as soon as possible."

Malcolm nodded.

"He cannot stay on the table," the woman said, "here, at least get him upstairs. Benjamin will show you where." The teenagers picked up Lennox again and followed the elderly man. Once they had gone, she said to Malcolm, "There are several bedrooms in this house. You will repose in one of the smaller ones. When you are well, I expect you to pull your weight. Benjamin is not to be ordered about by you."

"I agree to your terms."

The teenagers came down with Benjamin. "He is in the yellow room, Miz Hayes," said the servant.

"Thank you," she said.

"Return when you are able," Smith said to Malcolm. He then turned to the teenagers. "Get back into ranks and turn south, to Boston." They departed.

=/\=

Malcolm stood in the foyer with Benjamin and the woman. He finally spoke. "I wish to apologize for this. It is not my idea." His arm was painful, and he knew he couldn't go untreated, but it seemed the height of arrogance to push his own welfare when Lennox was so much worse off than he.

"Take off your jacket," she said. "Go on, remove it. I cannot see the extent of your wound so long as you have it on. And while you are in my home, even as an unwilling guest, you will not appear as a redcoat. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Benjamin, please boil some water for tea. And extra, for I shall need to clean these men's wounds. And then we need bandages for him, and for the one upstairs."

"Yes, ma'am."

Alone, she said to Malcolm, "I am Mrs. Hayes. My husband is a Major in the colonial militia. You may very well have shot at him today, or his musket ball may have hit your arm, or hit that man upstairs."

"It's certainly possible. Mrs. Hayes," Malcolm said, "I thank you for whatever you can do."

"You will need to roll up your sleeve as well," she said, "I shall check in on the man upstairs."

"His name is Lennox," Malcolm said.

She departed for a second, and Malcolm was left to speculate. _Was it a reenactment with overly committed actors? A time shift of some sort? Collective madness? A hallucination_?

There was a whistling sound, and Benjamin came in with the kettle and a trivet. He set them down and said to Malcolm, "I am watching, you know. I will not let you harm her."

"I won't. You have my word," Malcolm said. There was a bit of a sound of moaning from upstairs.

She called down. "Mister Lennox needs my care far more than you do. Can you staunch your own bleeding for the moment?" Malcolm nodded and Benjamin went upstairs, as quickly as he could.

14


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter* 3

With nothing to do, Malcolm went upstairs to see what was happening with Lennox. The house had several rooms, but most of the doors were shut tight. There was light coming from one, a room with yellow walls. He walked toward it.

Mrs. Hayes and Benjamin were working together. "I will need my sewing kit," she said, "and the brandy, I think."

"Yes, ma'am." The servant departed.

"How bad is it?" Malcolm asked.

"He has lost a great deal of blood," she said, "and shall continue to do so, unless I can stitch him up. Do you think you need stitchery as well?"

"I don't know," he swallowed a little. Surely that was taking the illusion too far. They may have been overly committed actors, but he, most assuredly, was not.

Benjamin went past him with the kit and a flask, and Mrs. Hayes began to thread a needle. "All right," she said, "you give him the brandy and I will do the sewing."

Benjamin uncorked the flask and poured some of its contents down the injured man's throat as Mrs. Hayes repeated to herself a few times, "It's like a quilt. Think of it like a quilt. You have sewn dozens of quilts, Charlotte."

She cringed as she plunged in the needle. Lennox cried out incoherently, but did not struggle. Malcolm looked away. Doctor Phlox had never done anything like that on the _NX_-_01_. Even a few years ago, when Malcolm's leg had been broken, the treatment had never been like _that_.

Charlotte bandaged up Lennox as best she could and sighed. She looked at the wounded man. "I can't guarantee that you'll survive the night, I'm sorry to say. Royal Family or no, your blood is as red as my own. That was quite a hit you took."

"Might I speak with you?" Malcolm asked.

"Come, we will go into one of the other rooms so that he may sleep a bit," Charlotte said, "the blue one. Benjamin, have you the key?"

The old servant produced a skeleton key and unlocked the door to the next room over.

"I suppose you can sleep in here," she said, "now, sit here, near the window so that there's some light. Is the water still hot?" she asked the servant.

"Yes."

"Now, let's take a look," she said. As she peered at his wound, she said, "Now, what is it you wish to say, Mister …?"

"Reed. Malcolm Reed. I think you and Benjamin here, and Lennox as well," Malcolm vaguely indicated the next room over, "I think you're all marvelous actors."

"Actors?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "but now it's gone way too far. This reenactment has got to stop."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "What does he mean?" she asked Benjamin.

"Come now," Malcolm said, wincing a little as she cleaned the wound with hot water and soap, "I can see – and I can feel – that the wound is real. But the rest of it, it's simply got to be an illusion."

"_Illusion_?" Charlotte asked, incredulous, "Your Mister Lennox may die in the night. Deny that if you must, but that does not change things. He is still very gravely injured, and may not see the dawn."

"The recreation is truly remarkable," Malcolm said, nervously laughing a little, "You speak and dress perfectly, exactly the way you should. The weaponry is right, and so are the furnishings. Even the way you are dressing my wound – and the fact that I have a wound at all – it's seamless. What species are you?"

"What does that mean?" Benjamin asked Charlotte.

"Mister Warren," she said to him, "I'm sure I do not know. Mister Reed, we are in Concord. Everything is happening, as you say, seamlessly, because this is the way that these things are done."

"But it's 2153!"

"Come again?" she asked.

"2153. You know. The year. It's April, although I've forgotten the precise date," Malcolm insisted, "The sixth, maybe."

"It is most definitely April," Charlotte said, "but the year is, it's 1775."

"It is April the nineteenth," Benjamin said.

That was what Smith had said when they had first entered Concord. Malcolm said, "And you've got your stories straight. Bravo! Very, very nicely done."

"I don't know what you're implying," Charlotte said, "but we are not in a play. I suspect it is madness. Is it not, Benjamin?"

"Seems that way to me."

"_Madness_?" Now it was Malcolm's turn to be incredulous. "I was just on the _NX-01_. We were under attack; the ship was rocked a few times. A nacelle was damaged, as I recall. And I fell on the Bridge, and when I came to, I was outside, and I was being fired upon."

"A ship?" she asked. "But you are an infantryman! How can you be in the Navy at the same time? That's not possible. Is it possible, Benjamin?"

"I don't know, Miz Hayes."

"I'm not in the bloody Navy!" Malcolm exclaimed. "I'm a member of Starfleet!"

"What is Starfleet?" she asked.

Malcolm sat there for a second, stunned. She pressed a bandage to his wound, and said, "I think we can try just placing a tight bandage on, and not sewing you up. But if you bleed through and keep bleeding through, we shall have to rethink that." She tied a clean bandage around his arm as he sat there, dumbfounded.

"You truly do not know?" he finally said.

"I have never heard this word _Starfleet_ before. Or those other words, nay, nay something." _Nacelle_.

"Me, neither," Benjamin said.

"Are you, are you people like me?" Malcolm asked, "Are you humans?"

"Of course we are," Charlotte said, fashioning a linen sling for Malcolm and putting it on his injured left arm, "for what else could we possibly be?" There was a short silence. "Please make the tea," Charlotte said to Benjamin, "We will be down shortly." Benjamin left, and she added, "I shall sit in with Mister Lennox, leave you to unpack your pack and, I suppose, think on these things."

"Yes, yes," Malcolm said absently as she departed.

He opened up the pack on a nearby desk. It was canvas and was tied with leather straps with buckles. It wasn't easy to maneuver with, really, just one arm, but he could manage. He carefully removed the pack's contents.

There were two black grosgrain ribbons, and three pairs of long woolen socks. There was a long-sleeved woolen shirt, probably meant to be an undershirt. There was also a short-sleeved linen shirt, probably also meant to be placed under another shirt. There was a pair of faded breeches and a long-sleeved shirt made of cambric. It was fairly plain, but the needlework was fine, and it seemed obvious that the shirt had been fairly expensive, and made by a professional. There were three pairs of linen shorts that Malcolm realized were undergarments. There was also a long nightshirt and a black leather belt. He dug in a bit more and found a folded straight razor and a shaving brush, and a small bar of soap that was a bit worn down – _it had been used_.

There were also two small packages, wrapped in paper and tied with string. One of these consisted of a tied-together packet of four plain feather quills, plus a small folding knife with a blade that was flat on both sides, and a small sponge. The second package was a lot of layers of paper, carefully protecting a bottle of black ink which, fortunately, had not been cracked during the hostilities.

He dug around a little more and found two beeswax candles and a flint striker, and a small bound book with blank pages and a carved brown leather cover. There was a raised capital _R_ within the carvings.

"You thought of everything," he said softly, a touch of admiration in his voice. He opened up the book but there were no writings in it whatsoever, so there was no clue as to its ownership, save the _R_. Whether that meant _Reed_, or something else, it was impossible to tell. The pack was completely emptied of its contents. He looked at it and sighed. "I don't know whether to be impressed by the attention to detail, or worried that I am, indeed, going mad."

"I see you are used to finer things than we can offer here," she said.

Startled, he turned around quickly. "I didn't hear you approach."

"Sorry, it's these slippers I am wearing. Mister Lennox is asleep, and I hope he is not dreaming of horrid things. Can you take tea?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Mrs. Hayes, please forgive my earlier outburst. But I wish for you to understand," Malcolm thought a moment to gather his words, "but I do not believe that I belong here. And I am troubled by this, for I am unsure of how to explain it all."

"What is there to explain? You are a soldier, and there was an engagement today. Your unit retreated over the Old Bridge, and you and Mister Lennox were wounded. And then you were quartered here. Your wounds have been dressed, and now we are about to take tea. I would not normally offer niceties to the enemy. But you have been courteous to me, and to Benjamin. Not like that wretched commanding officer you have."

"That's just it," Malcolm said, "When I woke up this morning, he was not my commanding officer. And I was, truly, in 2153. Whether you choose to believe that, I cannot tell you to do so."

"If I choose to believe that," she said, "will you choose to believe that you truly are in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and that it truly is April the nineteenth, of 1775?"

He thought for a moment. "If I have, indeed, been brought here somehow, in some fashion, then surely there is a way for me to return, is there not?"

"If you can conjure up that wizardry, then have at it," she said, smiling a little, "but I cannot see how you could possibly accomplish it, with a fine shirt and a writing book and a few other personal effects. There are hooks in the closet where you may hang your things."

"I wish Tripp Tucker were here."

"Who is that?"

"He is the Chief Engineer. He would be able to, I believe, conjure up that wizardry, as you so eloquently put it."

"An engineer is a technician, is that not correct? But this seems like it would require more than pulleys and levers. Either way, though, will you believe in the here and the now enough in order to take tea?"

"Of course," he said, and they went downstairs together.

=/\=

Although Benjamin brought the kettle and the plates and the biscuits out, it was Charlotte who did the serving. And she served all three of them, an act which surprised Malcolm a little. Benjamin, it seemed, was not treated poorly at all, much more like a cherished friend than a servant.

"Mister Warren," she said to him, "How are Dorcas and Jim?"

"Dorcas is my wife," Benjamin explained, "and Jim is our son."

"Oh, thank you," Malcolm took a small biscuit from Charlotte. "Do they not live here with you?" Malcolm asked.

"I do not live here," Benjamin said, "we have a cottage to the southwest of the Hayes farm. My wife is a cook for a neighbor, and my son does day laboring in the village, for whoever needs to hire him."

"Oh. And you don't have a cook?" Malcolm asked Charlotte.

"No. I enjoy cooking. And it is usually just for myself or one or two others, when Jacob is not here."

"Jacob?" Malcolm asked.

"He is my husband."

"I see. What does he do, apart from farming?"

"That is more than enough, when the number of hands is small," she said, "We hire Jim when we can. He is as good a worker as his father is."

"That's very kind of you to say, Miz Hayes."

"I would hire him full-time if I could afford to do so," she said, "but Jacob and I are always trying to save. We are rather dependent upon the whims of nature. Have you land, Mister Reed?"

"My mother has a garden."

"And do you grow good vegetables?" she inquired.

"Flowers, mostly. But there is also a small pineapple tree."

"I think I have had that once," she said, "it's spiky, the leaves are, yes? But it cannot grow in this sort of climate, not without a hothouse and a great deal of labor. I did not think it was possible for it to grow in England."

Malcolm wasn't sure whether he should explain that it grew just fine at his parents' home – in Malaysia, "My parents moved to a warmer climate, in Asia."

"How extraordinary," she said, "so it is that they are spending their later years in Cathay?"

"A bit south of that. The country is called Malaya," Malcolm said, remembering at the last second the older name for Malaysia.

"But you are originally British?" Benjamin asked.

"I was born in Britain, but the family moved soon afterward to Malaysia, uh, Malaya," Malcolm said, "And I came to Leicester for my education. And so I could not hide from the accent."

"Benjamin," Charlotte changed the subject, "can Jim be hired tomorrow and perhaps the day afterwards? I shall need to get the seed corn in the ground."

"I can spare him."

"Oh, and do you have an old coat, perhaps something that does not fit him any longer?"

"I can check, ma'am."

"We shall need a new coat for you," Charlotte said to Malcolm, "The accent, people might understand. But your red coat, it cannot be seen. For once you are better, I may need for you to do things like go into the village and bring back goods."

"I shall do as you ask," Malcolm said, all the while thinking that the tea was good, and the conversation was pleasant, but he was slipping further and further, deeper and deeper into believing that he really was there, in 1775, and was really sipping tea with a woman and her servant.

There was a moaning from upstairs. "Oh! I shall go to him!" she cried out.

She ran up the stairs and Malcolm and Benjamin followed behind her. Lennox was in distress, bleeding again, and looking pasty pale.

Malcolm felt lightheaded, and grasped out at nothing, and collapsed.

=/\=

"_Mister Reed! Mister Reed!" Was it T'Pol's voice? It was difficult for Malcolm to tell. Just as quickly as it had come, the familiar voice was gone._

__=/\=

He smelled a bit of ammonia as he came to. "Mister Reed, are you all right?" It was Benjamin, who helped him up.

"I don't know. More importantly, how is Lennox?"

"He is quieter now," Charlotte said, "but you, it was most strange. Can you, are you well enough to hear something odd?"

"I suppose I am." Benjamin pulled out the desk chair and Malcolm was grateful for a place to sit down.

"It was rather distressing," Charlotte said, "for when Mister Lennox was in his deepest distress, he had a bit of a fit. And you fell, very nearly at the very same time. And then, Benjamin, did you see it?"

"I did, ma'am."

"See what?" Malcolm asked.

"It was as if, oh, I shall not be able to explain this very well," she said, "but it was a bit like, your skin, it became almost half-see-through."

"Like tracing paper?" Malcolm inquired.

"I do not know what that is," Charlotte said, "It was a bit like fine, thin white linen or muslin, very nearly threadbare."

"Sir," Benjamin said, "we could partly see through you, to the floorboards. I would not have believed it if I had not seen it myself."

"What sort of conjuring made that happen?" asked Charlotte.

"I have no explanation," Malcolm said, "but while I was, I suppose the term is _under_, I heard a familiar voice."

"This is more than passing strange," Charlotte said, "are you the dream, or the dreamer? Or are we?"

"Or is _he_?" Benjamin indicated Lennox.

16


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter* 4

"I know _I'm_ real," Malcolm said, after some moments had passed.

"And I know that I am," Charlotte said, "and that Mister Warren here is as well."

"But none of us know about Lennox, right?" Benjamin asked.

"I suppose not," Malcolm said. The injured man had certainly _seemed_ real enough.

Charlotte beckoned them both out of that room and shut the door behind them. They were in the hallway. "He did not hear, did he, when we were discussing Dorcas and Jim, right?"

"It's doubtful," Malcolm conceded.

"So if this is Mister Lennox's nocturnal vision, it cannot be, for how could they exist, even in memory if he is the driver of this scene yet did not hear their names?" she asked.

"But _you_ heard, Mister Reed," Benjamin said, "What I don't get, is that even before I mentioned them to you, they were, I know they are – they are very real. And not just today, but for years! Sir, my wife and me, we've been together for over two decades. That was the case even before you showed up."

"I suspect we are going about this all wrong," Malcolm said, "and it's not a dream at all. I am, somehow, transported here. In some fashion, I have arrived, but I do not know the purpose or the means. What I mean is that there are transportation means, but they are purely spatial. They are not temporal."

"Temporal?" Charlotte asked.

"Traveling through time," he said.

"This is madness," Benjamin concluded.

"We don't know that, not yet," Charlotte said, "In the meantime, perhaps, let us operate under the assumption, that we are where we say we are, and we are when we say we are. And whether Mister Lennox is involved at all, or even if he belongs here, that is to be determined."

There was another sound of moaning and so she left them to attend to Lennox. Malcolm and Benjamin were left alone. "I have a question," Malcolm said.

"All right."

"Is there a place where I could wash up?" Malcolm had noticed all sorts of rooms, but none of them seemed to be for that particular purpose.

"The outbuildings are close by," Benjamin said, "There is a water pump there, and a basin and a pitcher and soap. Take a towel with you. There is also a mirror out there."

"Oh, thank you," Malcolm said as he stood near the linen closet and Benjamin fished out a towel for him.

Benjamin looked at him closely, "Since I am guessing that you are unfamiliar with the particulars, sir, I should tell you that there is a chamber pot under the bed for the middle of the night. You empty it and wash it at the outbuilding, the following morning."

"Oh."

"That is wholly unfamiliar to you, isn't it?"

"It is," Malcolm conceded. If it was an illusion – and he still was not convinced otherwise – it was a damned detailed one.

=/\=

There were a few hours before supper. Charlotte was busy attending to Lennox. Benjamin laid out the dishes and silverware. He went into Lennox's room. "Miz Hayes, are you all right with my departure?"

"Yes, of course, as always."

"But, …."

"I shall be all right."

Malcolm was standing in the doorway. "You have my word."

"I know," Benjamin said, "but I can't help being just a little concerned. Kindly forgive me for that." He left.

"I hope you don't mind a cold supper," she said, "for I had no plans to make anything extravagant."

"That's all right," he said.

"If you wish, why don't you make use of that diary book now? The light is better than candlelight will be."

"That's a good idea. Thank you." He retreated to the blue room.

=/\=

_Diary, April nineteenth, 1775 or perhaps 2153_

_This day has been fantastical, and it is scarcely over yet. I hardly know where to begin._

_I started my day on board the NX-01, the star ship Enterprise. And now I find myself, it seems a good three hundred plus years prior to that. If I am here at all, that is._

_For I am not wholly convinced that I am here at all._

_My belief is not that it is a dream, for I have several hallmarks of it not being one. For one, I was wounded, and it was painful and colorful enough that it seems as if it were real. Of course, a very skilled illusion could be convincing. But I am attempting to apply Occam's Razor to this predicament I am now in. Whatever is the simplest explanation, and whatever is at all trustworthy – I shall endeavor to only follow those ideas to their conclusions. I believe Commander T'Pol would find this approach to be logical._

_In any event, I arrived here and was fired upon and apparently I was a part of the battle at Lexington, and then, in retreat, into the battle of Concord as well. It was, as Longfellow put it, the shot heard 'round the world. I have studied the tactics of both sides, and know the redcoats were awful, for the most part. Their main advantages were training and money, and also numbers. But the rebels were far better fighters. They were not saddled with arrogance, and had no problems with guerilla warfare and other intelligent means of minimizing casualties. Hence, after some years' time – I'm afraid I have forgotten just how long – they won the war._

_What I am left with, for now, is wondering how I was transported here, for I feel it was some form of transporter technology, but it delivered me both spatially and temporally. Furthermore, it sent me farther spatially than we currently have the means to do. And so I am left to conclude that there is a significantly superior intellect at work, at least when it comes to this species of technology._

_The people here, for the most part, are good, it seems. Robert Lennox is or was friendly, but I fear he may be near his end. For this place takes its perfect rendering of 1775 rather seriously. The man has lost a lot of blood and appears to be suffering. I know colonials had no real treatment for that, apart from bed rest._

_And I wonder if my fate is at all tied to his, for when he was last in deep distress, he seemed to become near death, and it was reported that I became translucent, an idea that amuses me a bit but also, in a way, appears to go along with the twisted logic of this place. If he dies, do I? Or am I returned? Or am I stuck here permanently? Time will tell._

_As for the other people, my commanding officer, one Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith, is long gone, and I cannot say that I will miss the man, for he proved arrogant and impatient, and was the very essence of a redcoat commander. This included his pushing to have myself and Mister Lennox quartered in a private home – one of the things that Thomas Paine railed against in his Common Sense pamphlets. _

_Another person I have encountered is Benjamin Warren, who is a freed man, possibly a former slave. He reports that he has a wife named Dorcas and a son named Jim. I am to be, if there is one to spare, given an old coat of Jim's, so that I shall not embarrass the mistress of the house by wearing a red coat. I do not blame her._

_And then there is the mistress of the house. If this were truly a dream, then she would be different. And so she is another means of knowing that this is no dream, for she is a married woman, and is somewhat attractive but not achingly so. If I were dreaming, her physical charms would be more considerable, I suspect. And she would be available, right? Instead, she is a woman of perhaps forty, and there are a few lines about her mouth. But she has devastating eyes, an impossibly light blue in color. I know fully well that she is off the table. But that is in keeping with what I am like. And so I wonder if whoever has transported me, or has set up, perhaps, also an illusion, if they know that I am always captivated by women who are either wholly inappropriate for me, or are unattainable. Charlotte Hayes fits into the second category rather neatly._

_Finally, there is the matter of the soap. It's a strange and small thing, but it may prove significant, for it is the only bit of my pack that was apparently used before I got here. I have decided that I shall never use it, and instead will use any soap provided by the house. I need to keep the bar from my pack in order to remind myself that something is not right, and I should not simply accept what has happened, and believe everything, hook, line and sinker._

=/\=

The light was fading so Malcolm put away his writing materials and went into the yellow room, where Charlotte was still attending to Lennox. "I believe he can be left for a few hours or so. Let us go downstairs, but we will listen for him, all right?"

"Lead the way."

Supper was cold mutton and bread, with some cooked turnips. "I am sorry it is no better," she said.

"I am hardly a voluntary guest," he said, "so no apologies are necessary."

"I like to be a good hostess," she said, "either way."

They mainly ate in silence. It was a far cry from Malcolm's usual evening meals, which tended to be spent multitasking as he would read a series of reports on his PADD or watch a broadcast or meet with the people under him, or with Captain Archer.

When they finished, he helped her clear the table, an act which shocked her. "You truly are not from this time. My own husband rarely does that." She looked down. "I should not have said that."

"I shan't tell him, if I ever meet him. Where is he?"

"Wherever there is fighting."

=/\=

They washed the dishes together, and Charlotte laughed. "Now I know this is not a dream, for why would either of us conjure up dish washing in our intimate fantasies?"

"I would," Malcolm said, suddenly tongue-tied, "conjure up something else."

"As would I," she said, missing what he was getting at. She handed a wet pewter plate to him to dry. "These belonged to Jacob's family. The crockery – we purchased it after we were wed." The crockery was already dried and waited to be put away. It was off-white with blue day lilies in a pattern around the border.

"Is your family nearby?"

"No," she said, serious for a moment, "I am the only one here in our country."

"It must have been difficult for you to come here by yourself," Malcolm said.

"It was not that. I was born here. There were four of us. But in 1739, I should tell you a bit of it from the beginning."

"You don't need to say anything," he said, realizing that it was some form of bad news.

"Don't worry," she said, "it was so long ago. See, there were few young girls in Concord. And so, even though we were much apart in age, I was friends with Laura Hayes. Although when we were young, the age difference meant that she lorded it over me more than anything else. But I did not mind that so much. I came here, to the Hayes farm when I was nine; we were playing at school. Laura had wanted to be a teacher and so I was her pretend pupil."

"How much older is she than you?" Malcolm asked.

"It was a difference of nine years," Charlotte said. The use of the past tense did not escape his notice.

"Kindly go on," he said, and then added, "If you are comfortable discussing it."

"It's all right," she said, "Death is a part of life, right? I was here. I had nearly nothing with me but the clothes on my back. I did not even bring a shawl. And we were play-acting and then we heard shouting outside."

"Shouting?"

"Yes. My home was ablaze. It most likely began in the kitchen," she said, "My family was trapped inside."

"How awful."

"They found my father atop my mother and my little brother." She bit her lower lip. "I was spared because I had been play-acting. The Hayes family took me in. They didn't have to. I should have gone straight to the poorhouse. But Mrs. Hayes in particular, she was very kind. And so I was permitted to stay. I worked in the scullery. I didn't forget that I owed them."

"You don't need to tell me so much, Mrs. Hayes."

"It's all right. I suppose it's easier to tell a relative stranger. Jacob is seven years older than me. I was just some child to him when it all happened. He went off to school, to Harvard College, when I was eleven years old. He would return for the summers. And I began to truly notice him when I was thirteen."

"I see."

"He had a girl, the sister of a classmate. But it ended badly, she taunted him and called him _Farm boy_ and he was humiliated although it was true, he was the son of a farmer and that was to be his destiny. She took up with a man who gambled everything away on dice and cards. I think her choice was a rather poor one, but I did benefit from it."

Malcolm finished drying the dishes. "Where do I put these?"

"The cupboard is over there," she said, "A year later, it was the winter when I was about to turn fourteen, the entire house came down with the scarlet fever. It was dreadful. They say it weakens your heart. I was the fortunate one, again, as it turns out. And Benjamin and Dorcas survived. They were not yet wed at that time. But Laura and her parents, they all passed on."

"So you were bereft a second time."

"Yes, I was. When I was healthy enough, I wrote to Jacob at his school, asking what to do. He wrote back, saying that I could live in the house as long as I wished. And so I did. At age fourteen I was the mistress of this huge house! He returned that summer and naturally we were both full of sorrow at what had transpired."

"I can imagine."

"The following summer, I was fifteen and we spent the summer together here, but mainly apart as he realized he needed to begin to understand how the farm truly worked, and how to manage it. That was always the plan, for it to be his, and he attended college in order to be better with finances and the like. But he had little practical experience with actually running the place. His vacation was not much of a vacation. And on his last day at home before he returned for his final year of school, we talked together and we agreed that he would graduate and return in the spring and he would bring a ring then, for me."

"I should return the favor, and tell you a bit of my life," Malcolm said.

"It's getting late," she said, looking at the burned-down candle next to the basin, which was still filled with sudsy water. "Perhaps we can talk tomorrow, all right?" She yawned. "But for now, I hope you will excuse me."

"Of course. Good night."

=/\=

Malcolm dreamt of the _NX-01_, and it seemed that he was back at his station, performing his regular duties and that the side trip to Concord was what had been the dream. And then a rooster crowed, and he awoke, and remembered where, and when, he was.

His arm hurt; he'd slept on it funny. And he was just in shorts as his left arm was still in the sling. Putting on the nightshirt just seemed too complicated. No one else seemed to be stirring but the rooster, which crowed again. Malcolm got dressed as quickly as the sling allowed.

He walked out to the yellow room, wondering what had happened to Lennox. He found Charlotte sitting in a chair next to the bed. She had a letter in her hands that she had been writing, but she was slumped over, fast asleep.

He looked over at the bed and Lennox was asleep as well. _So far, so good for you, Lennox_, Malcolm thought.

He gently tapped Charlotte on her shoulder. "Oh!" she said.

"Mrs. Hayes, you should go to your bed and rest."

"The animals need to be fed," she said sleepily.

"Mister Warren and I shall take care of that."

"And breakfast," she said, a little more awake, "you and Mister Lennox will need to eat something."

"I can make eggs," Malcolm said.

"You don't know where anything is," she yawned.

"The crockery is in the cabinet and I saw a large pan hanging from a hook on the kitchen ceiling."

"But –"she continued to protest weakly.

"But nothing," he said, "I shan't forgive myself if you become ill due to a lack of sleep."

"The horses need to be exercised," she murmured.

He pulled her arm a bit to get her up, and she dropped one of the pages of her letter. He bent down and picked it up, just enough to see that it was headed, _My dearest Jacob_, and gave it to her to carry. "Come along," he said, "you will rest, if only for a little while. And all of the things you had intended to do today; they shall be done just a little bit later than usual. That's all. All right?"

"All right," she whispered, "there, second door to the right."

He opened the door. The master bedroom was decorated in greens and blues, with heavy curtains in the windows. She walked over to her bed under her own power. "Don't look," she said.

"Oh, of course," he said, and he turned away to look out the window while she took off her robe and a little white lacy cap she'd been wearing. He saw a little bit of her reflection in the window, which had uneven glass that looked a bit like he was looking at something underwater. He could see the hint of her shape a little under her nightgown, which was white cotton and laced up the front, by the neckline, with a narrow blue ribbon. He was distracted for just a second, and then closed the curtains.

"You may look now," she said.

She was lying in the bed with the covers up to her chin. No more hints of her body were apparent, but he did see something he hadn't before – her hair. It was extremely light blonde, almost white. She had a long braid that was arranged by her side.

"I shall endeavor to make you breakfast," he said, "Do you wish for your letter to be posted?"

"Oh, it's not finished yet," she said.

"Sleep well," he said, shutting the door behind him.

=/\=

On the _NX-01_, it was still 2153. And it was still the same day and everything, for Malcolm had only been lying on the floor of the Bridge for a few seconds.

T'Pol knelt at his side and felt for a pulse. She looked up and nodded. "Hoshi," Jonathan said, "tell Sick Bay Lieutenant Reed will be brought in and then get Aidan MacKenzie up here."

"Aye, sir."

At least they were, for the moment, not being fired upon. Two security crewmen – Deborah Haddon and Brian Delacroix – brought over a stretcher and unfolded it with a quick snap. They put Lieutenant Reed on it and began to take him away as the night shift tactical crewman, Aidan MacKenzie, arrived to take over Malcolm's station. It was not a moment too soon, for Travis yelled, "Incoming!"

=/\=

Malcolm found the pan and the crockery as he had mentioned, but then he floundered a bit. Eggs, eggs, where were the eggs? And there had to be some sort of oil or butter or something. He knew there was no refrigeration unit. He was about ready to give up and just haul out the remains of the bread from the box when Benjamin walked in with a young man who was clearly his son.

"Ah, Mister Warren," Malcolm said, "can you tell me where the eggs are?"

"Probably still under the chickens," Benjamin said, "This is Jim. He has a coat that might fit you."

The coat was patched and worn at the elbows, and it was too long for him, both in the body and in the sleeves, but it wasn't red, which was its main virtue. "This will do nicely. Thank you," Malcolm said, "I don't know that I have anything to compensate you with."

"Here," Benjamin said, pointing to a string attached to a pouch in Malcolm's right front pocket. There was an identical string and pouch on the other side.

"I think that's buckshot," Malcolm said.

"One must be, sir," said Jim, "but the other's probably your purse."

Malcolm fished the pouch out of his right pocket and there were some coins in it, of various colors and sizes. "What's reasonable?" he asked.

"Here, it's used," Benjamin said, taking five shillings, "and it needs altering and repair."

"Don't sell yourself short," Malcolm said, "I don't mind if you take more."

"No, sir," Jim said, "you'll be needing that."

"Jim, take Mister Reed out and show him how to get the eggs." Benjamin handed Malcolm a basket and a bucket for Jim, "And some milk, as well."

Malcolm swallowed for a second. He had lactose intolerance, and there was no way he was going to drink milk without it being treated rather extensively. "Is there something to drink that is not milk?"

"Cider," Jim said, holding the door as they walked out into the cool spring morning.

"Oh, then I shall have cider."

"My father told me that you seem to have forgotten some things, that maybe it has to do with your injury," Jim said.

It was as reasonable an explanation as any, and it would contaminate their culture the least amount. "Yes. I'm afraid I'm more of a city man, as well. I just don't know a lot of how a farm truly works."

"It's not hard," he opened the door to the chicken coop. There was squawking as the birds flapped and jogged out of the way, "Now," he said, "Maisie here won't let you take her eggs, so you gotta wait until she's out to get her feed. But Dolly and Mary are just fine. The others, I don't think they have names. Mrs. Hayes doesn't name the ones she thinks she'll be slaughtering soon."

"Oh. And I just reach underneath and take an egg?"

"Take two at a time. They sometimes peck. But leave 'em one or two, closest to the front of their nests, all right? Like here," he lifted up a small brown hen who did not protest too much, "There ya go, Dolly, now see, there are six in here? We leave these two up front. Otherwise poor Dolly would have a broken heart, you see. Plus more hens is always good, or a rooster or two. You try it now."

"All right," Malcolm positioned himself in front of the next nest over. He put the basket down; he was still going more or less one-armed. "Mary, I'd like to apologize," he said, and then reached under. He found a clutch of about eight eggs, and took only the two that were closest to the back. Mary clucked a bit but did not try to peck at him.

The rooster crowed again. "I was under the impression," Malcolm said, "that they only crowed at the crack of dawn. I think that one's a bit overzealous."

"No, they crow whenever they feel like it," Jim said, taking more eggs. They had a pretty good haul before they left the coop.

"What about Maisie's eggs?"

"Later, maybe," Jim said, "I don't like getting pecked at, not as much as she does. And now for the cows. You ever milk a cow before, sir?"

"Never."

There was a pen and there were four cows in there, with a bull. Jim shooed the bull away and got him into a smaller enclosure before letting Malcolm in. "The bull will charge if he thinks anything strange is happening. And he thinks a lotta things are strange."

"I have little doubt of that. What shall I do?"

"Here," Jim set up a stool, "Abigail will come over first. She's the curious one. Ah, here she is now," Abigail was a brown and white cow. "She misses her calf."

"What happened to her calf?"

"Veal. Now, sir, sit here with the bucket between your knees. And do like I tell you, all right? Now, you grab with your thumb and your forefinger, and squeeze. Aim for the bucket, of course."

"Of course," Malcolm tried a few tentative pulls.

"You gotta do more'n that, sir," Jim said, "You ever had a woman who had a lot up here?" he vaguely indicated his own chest. "And she, uh, maybe didn't mind if you were a little, um, rough? Do it that way."

Malcolm laughed, "Do I need to tell Abigail that I love her, or something like that?"

"Maybe the next time you do this." Jim grinned.

Jim busied himself with feeding the animals as Malcolm continued. He felt content as he worked. It seemed, not like a vacation – for the work was not easy – but it seemed to be honest labor. And he was suddenly realizing just how hungry he truly was.

Jim came back. "I don't think you should be riding a horse with your arm like that, but you might be able to take Miz Hayes out for a drive in the wagon after breakfast."

"Perhaps I could. I think I'm finished, or at least the bucket is full."

"That's enough," Jim said, "we'll go to the ice house, too, and pick up some butter for your breakfast."

"Aren't you and your father eating?"

"My mother made us something before we left this morning. But you and Miz Hayes and that other hurt fellow, you'll be wanting something, right?"

"Most definitely. I don't think I've ever had such an appetite before."

"We'll get bacon from the smokehouse, too. Then I guess my father will rouse Miz Hayes and you and she will have breakfast. My father and I will do the planting. The ground's good and soft. It's the right time to do that."

"You know best."

=/\=

Breakfast was huge, but Malcolm was certainly hungry enough. He ate like he had when he had been a teenager, and silently wondered if it would matter, calorie-wise. _The Colonial Farm Diet_ – he could, perhaps, write a book. He smiled to himself as he ate a second helping of bacon and eggs.

"I am almost finished with my letter," Charlotte said, "and so if you don't mind, Mister Reed, you and I will hitch up the grey mare and drive her to town. Benjamin and Jim will take the two others, and will get the plowing done. And you and I can weed the garden and plant the vegetables."

"That seems a good idea," Malcolm said. He got up to take his plate over to the basin.

"It's all right, sir," said Benjamin, "I can do this."

"I was raised to help clear things up," Malcolm explained.

"Perhaps those are city manners," Charlotte opined, "I shall be in Mister Lennox's room, seeing if I can get him to eat anything, and finishing up my letter." She departed.

"Mister Reed," Benjamin said, "you'll need to hitch up the grey mare. Jim can help you with that, all right?"

"Of course."

=/\=

Charlotte brought a tray up with her. She had a small plate of scrambled eggs with bacon and a mug of milk. She set them down on a small table. "Mister Lennox," she said gently, "do you hunger?"

"Hmm?" asked the injured man.

"I have a bit of breakfast for you. You need to keep up your strength, sir."

"Where am I?" he inquired.

"This is the Hayes Farm," she said as she got up to get the plate and fork.

"When is this?"

"Sir, have you the same affliction as Mister Reed?"

"Reed?"

"Yes," Charlotte said, "but it hardly surprises me that you would forget. You are here and are somewhat bewildered. And you seem to feel that you are out of place, yes? And Mister Reed, he, too, feels out of sorts and out of place. Jim reports to me that Mister Reed does not seem to know basic things, such as that the rooster crows all day long." As if to punctuate her statement, the rooster crowed again.

"What year is this?" Lennox asked.

"This is the year of our Lord, 1775," she said, "Now, here, let me feed you. I do not think you should be moving around too much as you might reopen your wound."

=/\=

She finished feeding him breakfast and he lay back. "I need to speak with this Mister Reed," Lennox said.

"I understand," Charlotte replied, "but in the meantime you should also rest, and he and I need to go to town so that I may post a letter. Is that delay acceptable to you?"

"It's fine."

She turned away from him and got up. "I shall be in the next room. I will hear you if you call out."

She went into her bedroom, and sat at the desk. She looked over the letter and finished it. Before sealing it, she read it over to check it for errors.

_My dearest Jacob,_

_I hope that you are well and that Providence ends this war quickly, so that we may be together again._

_I have news already, and it is strange. After the battles here and in nearby Lexington, a British company came to our farm and the commanding officer demanded that I quarter two injured soldiers. One, a Mister Lennox, is reportedly a member of the Royal Family. And so you can see why they were anxious that he survive._

_The other one was not hurt as badly, and instead was, most likely, brought over in order to watch and assure that Mister Lennox would receive proper treatment. That man's name is Reed. Mister Reed has proven to be eager to help out around the house and farm, even though he has an injured arm. _

_When he has recovered, I do not know what Mister Reed shall do. I imagine the British soldiery will be long gone by then. In the meantime, Mister Lennox is rather badly hurt although I was able to speak with him a bit today, for the first time. Still, I fear that Lennox will not survive the month. I have naught to truly treat him with. All I can offer is bed rest and some eggs and bacon. Small comfort indeed!_

_I do not feel I am in any danger with them here. Jim and Benjamin are nearby, as always, and they are vigilant. _

_Both of the injured men are a bit disoriented, feeling that they do not belong here. Whether that is an illusion on their parts, or something accurate and alarming, I do not know. As I mentioned, I do not feel fear. But it is an interesting puzzler. Is it a dream? And, if it is, then who is the dreamer? I am certain you were not expecting a philosophical inquiry in my first letter to you._

_The farm is looking good. Jim and Benjamin will do the planting today. Mister Reed and I shall drive into town, for the purposes of posting this missive and to gather up a few supplies. Mister Reed has some money and is not miserly with it. _

_I pray that you remain safe and healthy until your return, and that it is soon. Our cause is just, and I am so proud of you for fighting for it._

_Until God returns you to me, I remain, _

_Your faithful Charlotte_

=/\=

"I am ready to go," Charlotte said, walking outside. She had a shawl over her shoulders and a bonnet on. "Mister Lennox is resting. If you could check in on him on occasion, Benjamin, I should be most grateful."

"I will do so," said the old servant. He glanced in the direction of the barn. "Ah, here they come now."

Jim and Malcolm sat on the plain seat of a buckboard wagon that was being drawn by a grey horse. Malcolm was wearing an old hat that had belonged to Jacob. It was a little worn at the edges but at least it was not a part of a redcoat's uniform.

The ride was a bit bumpy. "And you kinda click a bit, it gets her attention," Jim explained, demonstrating the clicking sound from the side of his mouth. "Whoa, Phoebe!" He gave the reins to Malcolm and then jumped down. He helped Charlotte up.

"We shall be back soon," she said, "can you drive?" she asked Malcolm.

"I think so," he said, "you start off with a bit of a yell and you sort of slap her with the reins a bit, yes?"

"Not too hard," she said.

"Ya!" He slapped Phoebe's back with the reins and they were off.

=/\=

After they had been riding for a few minutes, she said, "I should tell you what Mister Lennox told me."

"Oh?"

"It was most extraordinary. Mister Reed, he does not seem to feel that he belongs here, either. He, too, inquired of me as to the year."

"I see," Malcolm said, "that does explain why he behaved the way he did when we were under fire."

"How was that?"

"He was the only person other than myself who was ducking. Everyone else was simply standing in the open and firing, making themselves rather large and attractive – and brightly-plumed – targets for the rebels. But Lennox shoved me down to the ground. He very likely saved my hide."

"He, too, is unsure of where and when anything is happening. Do you believe he is from your era?"

"I don't know," Malcolm said, "but Lieutenant Colonel Smith said that Lennox was a member of the Royal Family. So how could that be, if he, too, does not belong here?"

She thought for a moment. "We are almost there. Let us pick up this discussion on the drive back, all right? For now, we need to go to market and haggle a bit."

=/\=

He helped her down as well as he could, and then they tied the mare to a post. "Where to?" he asked.

"Here," she said, and he followed her to where there was a village green. The day before, there had been fighting in a virtually identical place, but that had been Lexington, the next town over. This was Concord, so the green was still looking good and was not littered with bodies or lead pellets.

There were vendors with their wares, mainly selling out of carts or stalls or the wares were set out on small tables. "Potatoes!" yelled one. "Onions!" yelled another. "Capons!" yelled a third.

He followed her to the stall where the onions were being sold. "How much for a dozen?" Charlotte asked.

"Four pennies, Miss," said the vendor, a young girl, probably not even ten years old, dressed in rags.

"Here, I shall purchase them," Malcolm said, "Can you use two dozen, Mrs. Hayes?"

"I suppose I could," Charlotte said.

"Here, for two dozen," Malcolm gave the girl ten pence.

The girl fumbled for change and gave him back four pence, "It is a better price for two dozen," she explained.

"Oh," Malcolm said, a bit nonplussed. Was he to begrudge her a few pennies? "You can keep the change."

"Sir, are you certain? It is too much, sir."

"It's all right," Malcolm said.

"Thank you, sir!" The young girl was ecstatic. "I have vegetables here every market day, sir."

"I shall keep that in mind." He and Charlotte moved along.

"You really should not encourage her," Charlotte said, "for that child will be offering you the rags off her back if you persist."

"I shouldn't be generous?"

"It's not that, but a young girl like that, her father might wonder what else she could sell you."

"What are you saying?" Malcolm asked her quietly.

"A disorderly house," Charlotte said, "I know that they exist. But there are others, the poorest of the poor, they have little to sell."

They continued walking and then Malcolm figured out what she meant. "You mean that that child, that she would be offering her body to me for money?"

Charlotte nodded and began haggling with a merchant selling peanuts from South Carolina.

=/\=

The Post Office wasn't much more than a table in a room in a neighbor's house. Malcolm waited outside as Charlotte posted her letter.

He realized quickly that he needed to tip his hat whenever a woman strolled by. The idea amused him. _Whoever created this illusion_, he thought to himself, _your attention to detail is truly remarkable. But to what end?_

Charlotte emerged from the building. "Ready to return, and weed the garden?"

"Whatever you say."

"I get the feeling you are not so compliant with your own wife, Mister Reed."

"Wife?"

She paused for a second, and he helped her back into the buckboard as well as he could. "I didn't mean to pry. I just naturally assumed. Kindly forgive me if I have offended or hurt you, sir."

"No," Malcolm said. But he bit his lower lip and there was a faraway look in his eyes when he said that.

"Who was she?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The woman who got away."

"No one in particular," he said, "it's more that I suppose you shared a few personal details. I can do the same. I tend to fall for women who are either thoroughly inappropriate for me or are utterly unattainable."

"That way, I suppose, you protect yourself from being hurt."

He did not answer, and just slapped the reins and Phoebe began to trot.

=/\=

They left the market. As soon as they were past the town's limits, Charlotte said, "I did not mean to distress you, in speaking of disorderly houses and such. I imagine most respectable women do not know of such things at all. But I was raised by the Hayes family to be forthright, and to also know what is happening, either in town or on the farm or wherever. I was not to shut my eyes to anything happening, whether good or ill. I am not to shut my eyes to the injustices of the world."

"That seems wise."

"It is practical. For if they had not passed, or if Jacob had not chosen me, or the like, I would have very likely become an indentured servant, the schoolteacher that Laura actually _did _wish to be. Yet that is not what my destiny was to be."

"Speaking of destiny, we were to discuss Mister Lennox," Malcolm prompted.

"Yes. I wonder if he is similarly afflicted as you are."

"I did not know him beforehand," Malcolm said, "but that hardly means anything, as there are however many people serving in Starfleet." He paused for a moment. "I think that I should not tell you too much of that. It seems that it would be wrong to be too forthright about it."

"I told you things of my life, and you cannot do the same?"

"It's not that. It's that we are supposed to, it seems the height of arrogance right now, but we are meant to keep certain knowledge from civilizations that might not be quite ready for it."

"Ready?" she asked, a little incredulous. "I have seen you very nearly disappear, Mister Reed."

He thought for a moment. "Perhaps I should be more circumspect about this. Tell you a bit, tell Mister Warren less, tell his family even less than that, and say nothing to anyone else."

"And what will you say to Mister Lennox?"

"I don't know."

=/\=

They returned to the farm. Jim was outside, walking behind a brown horse that was hitched to a wooden plow. "Where is your father?" Charlotte asked.

"Upstairs, Miz Hayes," Jim said, "tending to Mister Lennox."

"I do hope he is not in any distress," Charlotte said.

"I don't know, ma'am." Jim turned back to his plowing as Malcolm and Charlotte brought baskets of produce and fish into the house.

"Do you know where the ice house is?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, Mister Warren showed me. And after that, what is there to do?" Malcolm asked.

"We'll weed the garden and plant some seeds, then make and have some luncheon, I suppose. At some point, I shall need to launder linens. While I do that, you could write in your diary book, if the mood strikes you."

"Very well," he said, taking the fish out to the ice house. _Remarkable attention to detail when it comes to this illusion or creation or whatever this is_, he mused, _truly, whoever you are, you are continually outdoing yourself_.

=/\=

Charlotte was as good as her word, and left him alone to write in his diary. But instead Malcolm went into Lennox's room. The other man woke when he heard Malcolm's tread. "I was expecting you," Lennox said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. There is very little that I can say," Lennox said. He winced a little, in some pain.

"Perhaps I should give you some clues as to what I already know," Malcolm said.

"If you like. That might prove helpful."

"I am neither from here nor am I from now," Malcolm said cautiously.

"And where and when are you from?" Lennox inquired.

"See, that's it," Malcolm said, "I know, of course, but I wonder whether it would prove tactically problematic if I were to inform you. I suspect that you are feeling similarly about me."

"Perhaps. Tell me, Mister Reed, have you any idea how you got here?"

"Not really. I was in one place and then, suddenly, I was at Lexington, and being ordered to fire my weapon."

"And it was an unfamiliar weapon?" asked Lennox.

"Very."

"I can say the same," said Lennox. "I shall say but one more thing. There is a doctrine. I suppose that's the best word for it. It prevents interference with less advanced cultures."

"I am familiar with something like that," Malcolm said, "although it's not exactly codified."

"Right," Lennox said, getting an idea of Malcolm's era – pre-Constitution class, "Mrs. Hayes and the others are, or at least they appear to be, from a less advanced culture."

"I can agree with that assessment." Malcolm allowed.

"Then you must also know that, to me, you are also a member of a less advanced culture."

Malcolm let that statement roll around in his head for a while. "Did you bring me here?"

"I did not."

"Were _you_ brought here voluntarily?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Lennox.

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't mean to be speaking in riddles," Lennox said, "but I must. I'll put it to you this way; the intention was to move me spatially and in other manners, too."

"You mean temporally," Malcolm prompted.

"I truly cannot say," Lennox said, "but this was not my destination."

"Can you get back? Can you get _me_ back?"

"In both respects, I am truly unsure. As for you, I don't believe your presence is known at all."

"Mrs. Hayes said that yesterday I became almost translucent. It was when you almost seemed to be near death."

"Not near death, Mister Reed," said Lennox, grimacing, "although it may have appeared that way to her. I don't know if I can use that information. I will need to think about these things."

"I'll withdraw," Malcolm said, mindful of the fact that Lennox was still rather badly hurt, and was probably taxing himself quite a bit with the extended talk.

He left the room and went into his own, shutting the door behind him.

=/\=

Malcolm wrote in his diary.

_April the twentieth, 1775_

_This situation continues to become more bizarre, and threatens to get even stranger. Mrs. Hayes informed me that Mister Lennox seemed to also feel he is out of place here. Hence I spoke with the man. And what I learned was of interest. Lennox is clearly some form of time traveler. But he does not appear to be very much like Richard Daniels. Daniels was able to tell Jonathan Archer a great deal about what he was doing, and why he would perform certain tasks, or have the captain do them. Furthermore, Daniels seemed to have a good handle on being able to come and go, and return to, presumably, his own time period. That does not appear to be the case with Lennox._

_When I inquired as to whether he could return, he informed me that he was uncertain. Hence I am forced to conclude that he is not of the same time period as Daniels. There are other possibilities; I shall endeavor to explore them in this entry. _

_It is possible that Lennox is more advanced than Daniels, who is from the thirty-first century; I am not certain precisely when during that time period – perhaps much of his life tips into the preceding or succeeding century. As for Lennox, given his uncertainties, that tells me that the chances of him being more advanced than Daniels are slender. It seems unlikely that things would lose precision. _

_If he is less advanced than Daniels, then that begs the question as to how much so. Do their lives overlap at all? It does seem very much like an error. I am sure that, if Lennox could return himself, he probably would – at least to obtain better medical care. _

_Another possibility is that equipment was damaged or stolen, or simply does not work in the here and now. Or – and this scenario is a rather chilling one – his colleagues have abandoned him here._

_Could he be a prisoner here? Or an exile?_

_All of this is assuming that he is human, and this is Earth. When I speculate about those two premises, I come up with other scenarios, such as him being a part of one of the factions fighting the Temporal Cold War that Silik told Archer of. Or this could be a test – of me, of Lennox, of Mrs. Hayes – I have no idea. Is it an elaborate illusion, and maybe even a means of attempting to gather intel from me, although I have no idea what anyone would think they could learn from this setup. The specter of me milking a cow for the first time, surely that does not provide any insights into the Enterprise, its location, its armaments, its crew complement or Starfleet or anything else. _

_There is also the matter of whoever has attacked the Earth. I have not forgotten that. When I was transported – that may be the best term for it – away from the Enterprise – we were being attacked by Klingons who wanted the captain. As for whether they were responsible for the attack that bisected Florida and South America, I have no idea._

_Lennox is clearly the key. _

41


	5. Chapter 5 and Epilogue

Chapter* 5

"Where the hell is he?" asked a bronze-skinned human man sitting at a control panel. There was a uniform patch on his arm that said _M. Sinthasomphone_.

"Your guess is as good as mine," replied a young woman standing behind him. A display behind her scrolled through the time – _11:31 AM_ – and the old-style date – _November the twenty-eighth, 2285_.

"Do you think Lennox is dead, Padir?" asked Sinthasomphone.

"I'd rather be optimistic about such things," Monisha Padir replied. "After all, we have no evidence of that."

"And we don't have any evidence that he's still alive, either. He's like Schrodinger's Cat."

"Let's go over what we were attempting to do again, all right?" She asked. Her colleague rolled his eyes a little, so she added, "Really, I think it's the only way we're going to be able to figure this thing out – it's by going over the facts again. So let's talk."

"Okay," Sinthasomphone said. He sighed. They had already been over it several times. "Yesterday, we placed Agent Lennox into the prototype pod and set the temporal displacement coordinates."

"And we set those coordinates for _April six, 2153_, the _NX-01 Enterprise_."

"We were aiming for the neighborhood of the ship, of course," added her colleague, "I set the controls myself – you saw – and we pulled the trigger."

"Right, Makan. And instead of the pod going, it was just Lennox who departed. We tried to put a tracer on him, but couldn't. So, what does that tell us?"

"It tells me," Makan said, "this experiment was premature. There's no way we're ready for time travel."

"Understood," Monisha said, "but what else do you think we should be investigating?"

"Actually," he said, "maybe we can see if there's anything in any logs."

"Logs?"

"Yes, of the _NX-01,__"_ Makan said, "we don't know if they saw anything."

"I wonder what they would have seen," Monisha said. She shook her head. "I hope it wasn't just poor Agent Lennox being jettisoned into deep space with neither a ship nor an EV suit." There was a chime and she turned her attention to reading an incoming report.

=/\=

In 1775, Malcolm bided his time. Lennox had apparently become thoroughly exhausted and taxed by his and Charlotte's questions. Now Lennox seemed to drift out of consciousness more frequently. It had been going on for nearly a month, and Charlotte became rather concerned. Malcolm left the other man alone as he continued to wonder and speculate about what was going on, and why he was there and where there really was.

"I fear we overdid it with him, you and me, and he may die here, so far away from those who love him," She had a misty look in her eyes, and Malcolm got the impression that she wasn't necessarily talking about Lennox.

"Have you been able to get him to speak much at all?" Malcolm asked. They were sitting in her parlor. He was untangling a skein of yarn while she knitted a sock.

"Nothing much. I fear he is a bit damaged now. I do hope that we did not overly stress him! Perhaps this current damage cannot be repaired."

"Neither of us meant to harm him," Malcolm assured her. "We just wanted some answers. Perhaps they are no longer forthcoming."

"Were they so forthcoming before?"

He chuckled. "Not terribly. I, apparently, was a bit too primitive for him to say much to. I can see how annoying it can be, with the shoe on the other foot."

"So you see a bit of my perspective, a sliver, perhaps. After all, I am not from biblical or Roman times, yet you are keeping things from me as if I am."

"Mrs. Hayes, I don't mean to insult you. And I most assuredly do not mean to patronize you. It's more that I simply don't know how much to admit and, I'm a bit afraid that I'll suddenly say too much, and then I won't be able to retract it."

"I suppose I can see a bit of your perspective." She fished a finished sock out of her knitting basket and held it up next to the one that was still on the needle. "Huh. I don't think these are even. Do you?"

"Hmm? Do I what?"

"Do you think these are even?"

"The finished one is a little bit longer," he said, after scrutinizing them for a while.

"They're for Jacob," she said, "I haven't heard from him."

"I suppose these days it's difficult to get the post out on time."

"You're probably right. How is your arm feeling?"

"Pretty good," he said, "When it rained the other day, my elbow hurt a bit, but not like when I was first injured. It feels like I am very nearly healed."

"Let's have a look." She put down her knitting and knelt down near where he was sitting. She carefully unwound the bandages. "You're no longer bleeding."

"I think that stopped a good two weeks ago, perhaps more."

"Can you move it in the fully expected range?"

He tried, and mostly felt well until he completely straightened out his arm. _That_ hurt. He grimaced. "It appears I still have a few issues."

"But I think you can abandon the sling," she said. She carefully wound the main bandage back on his arm and then took away the sling. "I should think you'll be fully healed in a month or less."

"I suspect you're right. I'll be able to do a lot more 'round here," He hastily added, "That is, if you can continue to tolerate my company."

"Tolerate! As if I could barely stand your presence! It is not like that, Mister Reed. You are a great help." Then she thought better of it, and added, "And not just a help, but a friend. I have been able, even, to confide in you. I was confiding as I would to a stranger, but now that we know one another better, it is odd."

"You would not confide to a friend?"

"It's more that it is strange things," she said, "and you have confided some things to me as well. It is as if intimacy is all twisted around."

"Intimacy."

She looked down. "Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. Jacob needs warm socks. I need to finish these and stop chattering."

Malcolm got up and went outside and into the barn. He brushed Phoebe a bit and whispered, "Whatever shall I do?"

"About what, sir?" It was Benjamin, who had come to harness the other mare, Ellie, to a cart.

"I am just wondering," Malcolm said, casting about for something to say that would be believable and appropriate, "what to do if Lennox does not live, yet I fully recover."

"You could join up with our side, maybe," Benjamin said, "here, help me with the tracings."

"I don't know that I wish to be back in the thick of the fighting." It was nothing like using phase pistols or firing from the _Enterprise_.

"I think I can see that. It's not your fight, anyhow, unless you want to rejoin your own side."

"Not them, either, Mister Warren."

"You could keep helping around here, I reckon. Miz Hayes could use the help, as could Jim and I. If they had had children, they wouldn't need the help, but they didn't, so they do, sir." He placed a few empty sacks into the cart. "Come and weed, if you like, sir."

"Certainly." Malcolm followed along and realized that Charlotte had no children. He had noticed that, but had not quite put it together before. For his time period, it was not remarkable, in and of itself. But for hers, it was significant.

As he helped weed the garden, he mumbled to himself, "I cannot ask her. All that would do is distress her."

"Sir?" Benjamin asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking aloud." He straightened up and cracked his back.

"I think we're about done for the day, sir."

"Agreed, Mister Warren."

=/\=

In the _NX-01_'s Sick Bay, Doctor Phlox looked over his patient. "Well, well, Mister Reed," he muttered to himself, "you bumped your head a bit." The patient was laying on a movable bio bed, which Phlox could control. He got the bed to go into a scanner, and started up the machine.

"Let's see what we've got," Phlox said to no one in particular. The Derellian bat was in a nearby cage. It squawked. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

He checked the readings and reversed the direction of the bed, thereby bringing it out of the scanning chamber. "You've also got a contusion on your left elbow with a slight bone bruise. I imagine that would be hurting if you were conscious. But I can't truly determine why you're unconscious."

He looked at the scans a bit more closely. "Hmm, that's odd."

He fussed a little in order to get a stimulant injection ready. He turned away and then turned back in time to see his patient become slightly translucent. He almost dropped the injection. Nonplussed, he hit a wall communicator. "Sato here," Hoshi said from the Bridge.

"Get me the captain. Someone's trying to beam my charge directly out of Sick Bay."

=/\=

In 2285, Makan Sinthasomphone and Monisha Padir were looking over logs. "Wait, I've got it!" he yelled. "Here," he showed her.

"Indeed." She read off the display he was showing her. "_Medical log of Doctor Phlox, April sixth, 2153. _

_Lieutenant Reed was brought here, unconscious, after a fall when the ship was hit by weapons fire. The patient suffered a contusion on his left elbow with a slight bone bruise. Most remarkable was that apparently the Klingons attempted to beam him directly from Sick Bay. The purpose behind their activity is not known at this time. Furthermore, the Lieutenant's DNA scans differ from his original records by a very slight amount. Either it is an effect off the attempted beam-out, or, perhaps, this is a facsimile and not the Lieutenant at all_."

Makan said, "It wasn't the Klingons. But I bet that's related to what's going on. As for the remainder, I'm stumped."

Monisha looked at a different display and said, "The Section's got news of something called the _Genesis Project_. But none of that's happening near here."

"You think it's related?"

"I'm gonna follow every lead we've got."

"If Reed was being beamed," Makan said, "Or, at least, the doctor thought that, then maybe Lennox was in the middle of transporting, too. Or maybe he was being replaced or altered somehow. What do we know about the _Genesis Project_?"

"Not much," she admitted, "it's supposed to have something to do with rapid terraforming."

"You think it could mess up space-time?"

"You mean create a spatial-temporal interphase? Or even a somatic interphase?"

"That's what I just said," Makan Sinthasomphone stated. "Aren't you paying attention, Padir?"

"Sure I am. If we've got an interphase related to the _NX-01_ and 2153, then Lennox is somewhere else."

"This is not news."

"I get that," she said, "but Reed and Phlox are a hundred and thirty years before us. What's a hundred and thirty years before Phlox and Reed?"

"2023," he calculated in his head, "but it won't be that nice and neat. It couldn't possibly be. I still don't understand why he doesn't use the mini-transceiver."

"Maybe he's hurt. Or, God, maybe Lennox is dead."

"I hope not."

=/\=

Malcolm walked back into the house, determined to keep what he was feeling hidden. "I need to write in my diary a bit," he explained.

Charlotte shrugged. "Very well. But supper will be soon, Mister Reed."

"Understood." He retreated to his room, and began to write.

_Diary, May twelfth, 1775_

_If I continue for much longer, I shall say and do something that I will regret, I can tell. For Charlotte is charming and kind and very, very married. Yet again, I have a pang for one who is unattainable. I am a fool for staying, yet there is nowhere I can go._

He stopped writing when he heard a moan. He went into the yellow room, to where Lennox was laying. "What is it?" he asked.

"Can't explain," Lennox breathed to him.

Malcolm came closer to him. "You must tell me _something_."

"Temporal … Prime … Directive … forbids it," Lennox muttered, his face pained. "But … I must make … an exception."

"I swear to secrecy, if that will help you."

"Yes," Lennox whispered, "tell me … your year."

"I was born in 2112. And when you and I met in the battle at Lexington, it was 2153."

"_NX-01_?"

"Yes. I am the Tactical Officer."

"I was … the pod … was to … observe the … _NX-01_ at … the start … of the war."

"Who caused the attack on Earth?"

"Can't … tell … you."

Malcolm peered closely at Lennox, who seemed to be becoming a bit translucent but then suddenly snapped back into sharp focus. "Any better, Mister Lennox? If that is your true name," Malcolm said.

"Yes, it's better. And I am Lennox," said the man in the bed, weak but conscious and coherent. "I can't say much. But there was an experiment in time travel. I was to travel in a pod and observe you."

"But there is no pod, am I right?" Malcolm asked, "And somehow I went along for the ride, and to this time period. Yes?"

Lennox nodded. "All we can do is trip the transceiver, and hope my people get the message. It won't be much. It's really just a homing device, with no intelligence. We can't send an actual message beyond a _blip_ which will tell them we're – well, I'm – here."

"And you're in 1775 now."

"Yes. Hand me my pack, please." Malcolm did so. Lennox rummaged around a bit. "It needs to be pressed down on, hard. I'd do it myself, but I'll probably reopen the wound." He fished out a small device that looked almost like one of Charlotte's spools of thread. "Here," he said, pointing, "press on that, as hard as you can."

Malcolm took the little device and did so. There was the softest of _beeps_as it engaged.

=/\=

There was a chime in 2285, where Makan and Monisha were. "That's the secure line," she said. She hit a few keys and a written message came up on their viewer.

"_Section 31 Secured Channel Communications._

_Project Genesis reports that their Stage Two was successfully tested inside a cavern in the Regula I planetoid. However, there was an unexpected variable. The cavern ended up containing a corpse. The Section has been alerted, due to the irregularity itself and due to the fact that the DNA of the corpse very nearly matches that of a Section agent_."

"Which Section agent?" asked Makan.

Monisha looked up. "Robert Lennox."

"We gotta get that body," Makan said.

"Right. But why wouldn't the DNA match perfectly?"

"Phlox said about Reed that it could be a facsimile."

"Maybe there's deterioration during the process of time travel," Monisha offered. "And it killed Lennox somehow. Maybe it killed this guy Reed, and time all has to catch up."

"I dunno. Deterioration could explain it. Or maybe the Project Genesis body isn't Lennox at all, but it's nothing malicious."

"I don't understand," she admitted.

"What if it's someone similar? Like a relative or someone."

"You mean an ancestor?"

"Exactly," Makan said, "and somehow this Lennox grandfather or whatever, he gets switched with the Lennox we care about."

"That's almost like how transporters originally worked. You've got a lot of these _close enough_ molecules, but they aren't a perfect match. But it's close enough so the differences are immaterial."

"That's my theory. So, we've got close DNA – really close – and the system makes a leap of logic and decides it's close enough. And it pulls Lennox along and then Reed goes along for the ride, too, because the system finds the same situation with Reed."

"Somatic displacement!" she cried out. "Two almost identical bodies get switched!"

"Yes, and the system shifts them in time, too, because it's following its temporal adjustment programming."

"Ha! Then maybe Reed and Lennox were hauled over to some time period where their _close enough_ relatives were together."

"We gotta check the historical files. Cross-check all Reeds to all Lennoxes. Go back as far as we can," Makan suggested.

They waited as the computers compiled. Finally, there was a _ding _as the computer completed its task. "Holy cow, we have a match!" Monisha enthused. "April nineteenth, 1775 – the Battle of Lexington! Oh, but Lennox was killed."

"Maybe that's the Project Genesis body. Maybe our guy's okay," Makan said.

"And Reed?"

"I got no idea," Makan said.

=/\=

"Nothing so far," Malcolm said to Lennox. There were footsteps in the hallway. "We'd best put this back." He gave the mini-transceiver to Lennox, who stuffed it into the pack again.

It was a middle-aged woman of African descent. "I am Dorcas Warren," she said, "Miz Hayes asked me to come up and check on you. She and Jim are off to the market."

"Oh, we're all right," Malcolm assured her. "Thank you." She departed.

=/\=

There was a _beep_. Makan and Monisha looked at each other. "That's Robert!" she exclaimed.

"Or Reed, possibly. He's from close enough to our time that a mini-transceiver wouldn't scare him. Or maybe some cow is lying down on it."

"C'mon, be serious."

"I am being serious, Moni. It's not outside the realm of possibility, yanno."

"True," she allowed, "and how are we gonna retrieve Lennox? The pod is still _here_, in case you forgot."

There was another chime from the secure communications channel. "Report," Monisha said to the Xindi Aquatic on the screen.

"The corpse found at Project Genesis is cleared for transport. Beaming to your coordinates now."

"Thank you. Padir out." She cut the connection as the body appeared on a transporter pad in front of them.

Makan went over to look at the body. "He's wearing Lennox's clothes and everything. No wonder we've got nothing in historical records about some guy in Lexington or Concord wearing a grey jumpsuit."

Monisha consulted the computers. "It says here the ancestor's name is Robert, too. And he's a relative of George III, a nephew."

"Mad King George, eh? What about Reed?"

"There's no name match there. The guy on the _NX-01_ is named Malcolm. The redcoat Lieutenant is named Wilbur."

"Anything else on Wilbur?"

"He survives the war, goes home and marries, though the record doesn't say to whom. They have kids and all that, and the family stays in the Mother Country until Malcolm's own parents move to Malaysia."

"We've gotta get Wilbur back," Makan concluded.

"Right; and the only body we've got is _Robert, Version 1.0_."

"Let's think about this," Makan said, "If we send this body to 1775, do we get our Robert back? And does that affect Malcolm and Wilbur at all? And how?"

=/\=

In 1775, Malcolm and Robert sat together. "Do you think we should try your transceiver again?" Malcolm inquired.

"No," said Robert, "they should've gotten the message. There are two people back at HQ. One is an engineer – that's Makan Sinthasomphone. The other is a historian, Monisha Padir. She was the one who decided on the mission to 2153 in the first place."

"If they find a way to somehow retrieve you, what do you suppose happens to me?" asked Malcolm, "Or do you take my place on the _NX-01_ or some such? There's a war to be fought then, it seems. And I should be in the thick of it, yes?"

"I have no idea. Plus I'm supposed to be traveling in a pod. I really don't want to be visiting the vacuum of space without one."

"Of course not. And how did we get the equipment, and the clothing, do you imagine?"

"Would that I knew," Lennox replied, "But we have them, somehow. Were they supplied for us?"

"No," Malcolm said, "there was a small bar of soap in my pack. When I first opened up the pack, the soap had been used. It almost feels as if I exchanged places with someone, and sort of stepped into their life."

"Somatic displacement! Oh, damn! Now it falls into place!"

"What does?"

"The experiment was in temporal and spatial displacement. I was almost to beam – you do have beaming, don't you, Reed?" Malcolm nodded and Robert continued, "I was to more or less beam to the neighborhood of the _NX-01_'s coordinates, and in 2153. But we must not have properly accounted for the somatic dimension. There must be someone sufficiently similar, to me, enough so that the system became confused."

"And what of me?"

"Same thing, I imagine," replied Lennox. There were more footsteps, a softer tread. "We'll continue this discussion at a later time."

It was Charlotte. "Ah, Mister Lennox! You seem much fitter! I was truly worried for you. And Mister Reed, we have more produce from the market. It will be a feast tonight. Mister Lennox, do you think you could be carried or helped downstairs to join us?"

"Sure."

"Here, I shall assist," Malcolm said, "Unless you want me to put away the groceries."

"This is more important, I feel. I will see you both soon, to supper." She left, and Malcolm watched her go.

"Reed," Lennox said, "Don't get too interested. She is a married woman and we've got to get out of here. There are risks of all sorts of temporal contamination, if we haven't already torn it all to shreds."

Malcolm looked at him. "I don't know what to do."

"I am getting out of here," Lennox said, "and that probably means that you have to come along for the ride again. So get used to the idea, Reed. I'm sorry. I know she's pleasant and kind. But you can't stay."

Malcolm bent over Lennox and picked him up carefully. Lennox was light, and Malcolm had been doing hard physical labor for weeks. He brought the man downstairs and set him onto a chair.

"I might need some assistance in going up the stairs," Malcolm admitted.

"Oh, well, Jim and Dorcas are gone," Charlotte said, "It's just the three of us." She began to ladle soup into bowls. "We have brown bread, too, Mister Lennox. This is not a fancy house."

"But the food is very good," Malcolm said.

"I thank you. I picked up a letter from Jacob today," she said.

"News of the war?" asked Malcolm.

"I am excited about it but I am saving it for the end of the day. Now, tell me what you were conspiring about. I heard whispers upstairs."

"Mrs. Hayes," Robert said, "we will depart soon."

"Oh, but you are not fully recovered, Mister Lennox."

"Our surgeons will be able to heal me. It is not," he glanced at Malcolm, who looked away, "due to any dissatisfaction with your hospitality. If anything, you have been _too_ kind. But we should depart, and soon."

"Can you tell me, Mister Lennox, why there was a time when you were partly see-through, like fine muslin? And why our Mister Reed was like that one time as well?"

"Madam, I cannot answer that."

"You both see me as such a primitive!" she exclaimed. "I am not so. I read all that I can get my hands on, and I comprehend most of it, too! Why can you not tell me?"

"I wish we could tell you," Malcolm said, "All I can say is that Mister Lennox and I were not acquainted prior to the battle at Lexington. And I can tell you that a lot of this is chance and error, but none of it has been calculated to confuse or upset you."

She picked up her letter. "I shall read this early," she declared, "I will leave the dishes to you, if you will not tell me the whole truth." She departed, indignant.

"It's better this way, Reed," said Lennox, "she can't be affected by this. You can't hurt her. It's not fair."

"No. It is most certainly not fair."

=/\=

Grumbling to herself, Charlotte lit a candle in her room and began to read her letter.

_"May the fifth, 1775_

_My dearest Charlotte,_

_Providence has finally allowed me to write to you. Or, rather, this epistle is dictated, for I am injured and, at the present moment, unable to write. _

_I was captured during our march south, and forced onto a prison barge docked in New York harbor, at the East River. Conditions were appalling. It was there that I broke my right arm in three places. I was freed in an exchange of wounded prisoners. Others were not so fortunate. The surgeon says that I will regain the use of the arm eventually, but I must retire from the fighting._

_And so I will be placed on a wagon and we will take the Boston Post Road north and I will return to you. I do not yet have a date for my departure._

_I am certain that you, and Benjamin and Jim have been keeping the farm well in my absence. I hope that your uninvited guest, Mister Reed, has proven of some use to you in that area._

_War is brutal, and I am glad to be done with it. Our cause is just, but too many youth have perished already. I cannot wait to return to your faithful arms, and pray you will be the Sarah to my Abraham._

_I remain, as ever,_

_Your Jacob"_

She looked up when she heard a footfall. "Yes?"

"Lennox remains downstairs", Malcolm reported. "I'll need Jim's assistance in order to mount the stairs with Lennox. I gave him a blanket and placed him on the divan in your front parlor."

"Oh, I thank you, Mister Reed. It is a foolish hope, but in some ways I wish that you would remain."

"I like being here," he admitted, "but I have my own war to fight."

"We all have our battles. Jacob has been wounded and is returning. He is done with the fighting, although I imagine they would call him back if they became desperate."

"That's wonderful news for you, though, right?"

"It is," she said, "but he wishes for me to be as Sarah was to Abraham."

"I confess I do not understand the idiom."

"He wishes and hopes that now, as we are so late in coming to it, for me to conceive his child. Mister Reed, have you not wondered why I have no child?"

"I did not wish to pry."

"I fear I am barren and cursed. I perform my wifely duties of course. Perhaps it is a punishment for enjoying them. That is what the doctor and the minister both said when I was twenty-three and had no child. They had said it was the wickedness of being pleased by such acts. And now it is over two decades since then and I have no child, so I suppose they were correct in their assessments."

"Mrs. – Charlotte – that is unrelated. I am sorry you were told such an egregious falsehood." He found himself touching her hand and she did not pull away immediately.

"I fear Jacob is downplaying his injury," she said, "what if he is lamed, or blinded? And we have no son to take over the farm."

"Has he told you untruths before?"

"No," she said, withdrawing her hand. "Kindly forgive me. We should not fall prey to temptations."

Malcolm got up. "I had best retreat to my own room, before I stay."

=/\=

Makan commandeered the computers and ran scenario after scenario. There were empty coffee cups littered all around their workspace by the time he looked up. "I have an idea."

"Oh?"

"We've got four players. The initial problem occurred when our Lennox was released, in a pod, within spitting distance of the _NX-01_."

"But the pod never got there."

"Understood. But Robert bounced off somehow, and picked up Reed on the way. At the same time they were testing the Genesis Project. Both men are switched with close relatives who were in close proximity to each other, and that body ends up here."

"Right," she said, "and we've checked. The cause of death was buckshot and a lead ball to the carotid artery. This guy died during the battle at Lexington."

"We also know from the mini-transceiver that at least it isn't in the same place where we gotta assume Lennox and Reed landed. The location is still within what we now call the Boston megalopolis, but the area is around Concord."

"Okay, and?"

"Here's what we'll do," Makan said, "We'll launch the body, in the pod, at the _NX-01_. We can match the original intended touchdown time and location perfectly. So far as the system is concerned, it's a near-perfect instant replay."

"And?"

"And it'll get confused again, and should do the same temporal, spatial and somatic displacement trick as before."

"What if it only picks up Lennox? We gotta have _Malcolm_ Reed on the _NX-01_," Monisha stated. "They've gotta fight the Xindi war, and God knows Wilbur Reed doesn't know the slightest thing about phase cannons."

"We'll hope for the best. Here, help me reconfigure these, and then we'll get the pod ready again."

It took another hour to get it all ready. They looked at each other. "Here goes nothin'," Makan said, hitting the controls.

=/\=

In 2153, on the _NX-01_, Phlox noticed a brief shimmering as; again, it appeared that his patient was being beamed away.

=/\=

In 1775, Malcolm was standing in his room, debating with himself whether he should go to Charlotte anyway, when he felt a tugging, like he was being transported.

Downstairs, Lennox felt it, too.

=/\=

In 2153, time briefly went backwards, and they were back to the time of the attack by the Klingons. "_Damn Duras_!" exclaimed Jonathan Archer, "_No time for this_."

=/\=

And in 1775, it was weeks earlier, and Malcolm and Lennox were in Lexington. "_Fire_!" someone yelled, and Lennox found himself bellowing, "_Get down, Lieutenant_!"

Those were all that Malcolm heard, and then he felt a second tugging, again, as if he were being beamed.

=/\=

In 2285, the pod shimmered and then reappeared. The hatch opened, and out stepped Robert Lennox, in a grey jumpsuit. "What happened?" he asked. "Did you run the program? I didn't feel anything or go anywhere."

=/\=

In 2153, there was a hit. This one rocked the Bridge, and Malcolm fell to the floor.

"Sick Bay!" Hoshi yelled, "We have a medical emergency!"

Malcolm shook himself awake. "I'm all right," he said, and returned to his post.

=/\=

And in a Concord farmhouse in 1775, an anxious wife waited as her friends, freed slaves, helped her out as her husband had gone to the war.

Epilogue*

In 1775, Major Jacob Hayes returned home after a short engagement and a stint on an enemy prison barge, where he was wounded. He spent the duration of the war training fresh recruits, sending them to far-flung places with names like Valley Forge and Saratoga and, eventually, Yorktown. He also spent that time caring for his infant son, born ten months after his return, and being with his wife, Charlotte. They named their baby Patrick Laurent, after her father and his sister, and he was the delight of their later years. A continuing friendship with the Warren family was a part of his legacy.

=/\=

In 2285, Makan Sinthasomphone continued working on time travel as Monisha Padir kept looking for interesting places and times to send Robert Lennox.

=/\=

In 1775, the Duke of Richmond's body was brought back to the Mother Country by ship as soon as it was possible. His title passed to his first-born son as his widow kept the family together. Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith, to his credit, did not lose his commission over the death.

=/\=

In Yorktown in 1781, Wilbur Reed fought bravely, but in vain. He returned home to Leicester, and married his sweetheart. But their life together was cut short, and he returned for the War of 1812, and died in the Battle of New Orleans, leaving his widow to raise their young son, Steven, alone.

=/\=

In 2153, on April the sixteenth, Malcolm Reed was walking down the hall of the _NX-01_ with Tripp Tucker. "We got an interestin' lunch today," said Tucker, "We're supposed to be meeting Chef's new assistant, and the guy who's gonna head up the MACO complement."

"I still don't see why we require a complement of MACOs," replied Malcolm, "I know I have everything well in hand."

"Have an open mind, all right? Have you looked at pictures?"

"I have not," Malcolm said, "Why the devil would I wish to look at this chap from the MACOs?"

"I mean the assistant chef," said Tucker, "she's a blonde. I know you like that."

"Oh, perhaps I should." He stopped for a moment and brought up the photographs on his PADD. First was Major Jay Hayes, who looked huge. Then the sous-chef, Charlotte Lilienne O'Day. Malcolm became unsteady on his feet.

"You all right?"

"Huh. Charlotte."

"_Charlotte_?" asked Tucker. "Oh, yeah," he looked over Malcolm's shoulder. "But it says she prefers bein' called Lili. You look like you've seen a ghost. She's pale and all, but I dunno, talk to me, Reed."

Malcolm gazed at the picture of a middle-aged woman with extremely pale blonde hair and pale blue eyes that were almost white in appearance. "It feels like _déjà vu_."

"Well, get it together. We got that lunch in less than three minutes."

"Right, then."

He escorted Malcolm to the Observation Lounge for the lunch, a small break before going after the Xindi ultimate weapon.


End file.
